The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1887-09-11

Oh sorrows days! Oh, solemn march
OF reaper with the icy breath
That chiIls the lfe-blood in the flower,
And paints the forest in the hues of death.
How can sing my ayl Alas,
My pretty fade from my sight.
The lowring stormc I'D banks the sky,
And rights the CHEEKY voices of the night.
'Why. say" broke off the reader, ''this thing
seems to have tinge of sadness in it.
..Ah, yes; it is the groan-the shrek, might
say-of the sorrowadeh soul. These are not
the tinklings of joy, the soft lines of love-"
81 should hump myself to remark they are
not. They strike me as being very hard lines
Why, if a man to catch them without gloves
his hands would puff up like smoke balls. You'll
have to watch your next or I'll give base on
you. and he proceeded:
Whore brown leaves. sombre, nestle down,
walk beside the tinkling rill alone,
Ny o'erfraught heart sadly out
And can answer but moan.
There's use talking about it at all. AS
to rule this out. You've punched your hits too
much this grief business. You'll have the
field overwhelmed with tears that they can't
But that is what constitutes the merit of the
the poem. 1t is the acme of poetic art to find
deeper depth"
all right under the rules of your association,
but it won't work under ours. You see, the
newspapers 9 not only the guardians of public
morality, but also head physicians to the pub
lies health. When the public is raw we've got
20 pour oil on eEn. When it's dsconsolate and
depressed we've got to get right down under EN-
and buoy EN- up Now, what kind of a time is
this for funeral antheml just look at i'll Here's
the people discouraged by long drought, and a
Here's the Council helping johnson to head off
the cable road. Here's the club welding itself
on to the tail of the League, under the bsIefuI
influence OF Romeo johnson. Here's Green
Smith candidate for Governor. Do you want
more af1ctions2 Do you want to drive the popu-
lace to despair and revolutionf'
hyyy 0f NnnR 1r,6 Io.f < ~
Certainly you don't. That's where have
the advantage over you by my double existence.
In my private capacity as a literary man, I ap-
precate your effort. It's Jim dandy. It's
worthy of Longfellow or Judge Biddle, any
or them phenomenals But in my public
pacty, as arpica bottle for the reading world
I'm agin you. Now if the tone were changed
if you would pump little joy into tit would
be very different case; it might even be proper
for publication in family paper"
But 1t couldn't be altered without
There's where you're Oft your base again. OF
course it takes brain work to do it. and that's
where you poets are weak. Anyone can get up
ideas of his own and put EN- in rhyme, but is
takes big head to grasp the sentiments of the
public and make graceful excuses for em. Why,
just to illustrate. take my branch of literature.
I've known fellows to report game and every
play they made was an error. actually knew
one chump that took the side of the visiting
club against the home club, and what was the
result? A hundred and twentysix people
stopped their papers, and he got fred. don't
IN maks the pyoo such knon I'm 9,.voa
yearning for. Now observe me while put q
little compound curve in this" and thereupon
he scratched his head thoughfully for moment,
darted fiereely at a piece OF paper. and convert
ed it into manuscript. f.Now here you are" he
resumed. Here is the sort of document that
meets the public wants:
Oh breezy days! Oh dress parade
OF Father Time with fair. bald head,
Who grasps tn undying Inner brush
And gayy paints all nature red.
There. Don't you see the diference?D
But good heavens! That isn't poetry at all"
demonstrated the poet That's nothing"
why not?" Indignantly interpose6 the base
ball man. Don't it rhyme2 Don't every line
commence with capitall You bet your life it's
poetry. ana there ant any flies on It, either.
Now watch me go to the bat OF the second in
ming"
The poet twisted nneasilv in his chair. his
face a curious compound OF alarm and disgust,
as the editor scratched of tho lines and insert
ed punctuation in series .. wild stabs Then
the writer settled back ami read:
Come comrades. join my lay,
And raise veil immenses
AS the grounds we do when Shon-
Berg pastes her Ger the fence.
There is honey and mistake-a regular
inspiration. Don't you see what oeft touch
that is on local pride-how it turns attention
from the darkness of defeat TO the crimson flush
of victory. If man could always do that kind
of work it would reconcile every body to the
clubs record and we'd sort o. feel disappointed
if they won game"
But baseball has nothing to do with my
lines. It is totally foreign to the subject. It is
absurd. will not permit"
..Sh-hhi Don't speak so loud. If the printers
heard you uttering such sentiments they would
throw you down the elevator. 1 understand
this business. If you want people to read poetry
you've got to popularize it. Now, just keep
your clothes on till fix this other verse"
The editor bent over his desk and wrote again.
Then, musipgly. with mis- head resting on one
hand. he breathed on the startled air these lines:
love to wander by the brook
w hen down the brown leaves rustic,
With pleasant sound. like dressgools swung
by Boggss patent hustle.
"Now. I'll admit" he continued, that
the meter OF that doesn't get just
over the plate, but then that be per-
nitted as poetic license. Aside from that it's
good You've got to put some reference to
woman lovely woman, into poetry If there's
any go in L. How does il strike you nowW
There came answer. In the chair which
the Doet had occupied there was nothing but
large, rotund vacancy He had stolen his tent.
ike Arab, and silently folded off. The base
bail editor winked knowingly at his paste pot,
and chuckled to himself: II guess sneaked q
base on the chappy that trip
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